


Tumblr Prompts

by Jumpp



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Cuddles, Maskless Pyro, Multi, Romance, Vomit, coldfront, flu shit, medic and sniper bicker, more tags will be added with more promts, sfw, sick person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:55:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jumpp/pseuds/Jumpp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fics from Tumblr. There will be various ships and characters, along with various degrees of drama and seriousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pleasant Side of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Request for Engie and Pyro cuddles from Babybluezigzags on Tumbr.

The Pleasant Side of Hell  
Hell was not on fire. Hell was cold, icy, and somewhat monotone with enough snow to lose a whale in.

Coldfront by far ended up being Engineer’s least favorite mission. He was use to the warm, arid fields of Texas, the desserts in New Mexico. Not someplace so far up north it was like God forgot about it.

During the day, the man usually managed. He was always right next to that dispenser, and that kept him from getting too cold. The sentry threw off a bit of heat when it really got going, and that was nice. And then there were the layers he piled up in. He didn’t move much on the job. He found a place, set up a gun, and camped there. Unlike many of his teammates, Engineer could afford to drown himself in heavy, movement restricting coats.

But at night, in his room, there were no dispensers or sentries. He didn’t sleep in heavy coats. He didn’t sleep much, period.

It was only a week into the cold front operation (one Dell was already quite sick of) and pyro was acting weird. Which was normal. The only abnormal part was the kid hopping into bed with Engie when the man was fast asleep and trying to snuggle up next to him. He didn’t wake up till he felt a gas mask trying to worm it’s way in-between his arms.

Frankly, as much as Dell liked the kid, he found that weird as hell.

He cursed a blue streak and kicked the Pyro out.

Only when the firebug was gone did Dell realize how much warmer the bed was with them in it.

…

The next time Pyro tried to share a bed with him, less than a week later, Engineer at least heard it coming. He woke up when the door opened (these damn Coldfront doors didn’t come with locks) to Pyro walking in with a lighter as a flashlight.

He was barefoot, but still in the asbestos suit and still with that damn mask. Dell never could figure out how he was able to wear it all the time.

“H’mm hhld.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and apparently he took to long to respond and Pyro closed the door behind them. They set the lighter on his end table and sat down on the bed next to Dell.

And Dell, still blinking sleep out of his eyes, entertained the idea of just turning over and sharing the bed, but as Pyro’s suit touched his arm, he knew it wouldn’t work. That suit was uncomfortable and that mask would be a painful thing to have shoved in his back.

He kicked the pyro out again, this time a bit nicer than the last, and with an extra blanket (one that Dell didn’t really want to go without) along with the lighter Pyro almost forgot.

…

Another week after that, and Engineer was frustrated. His machines didn’t work right in the cold. He didn’t work right in he cold. He had a late night coffee after a day of pure shit and snow, and was about to go to bed. He opened the door to a dark room, and he knew he wasn’t alone. On the bed, illuminated only by the hallway light that drifted into the room, was Pyro.

“What’re you doing in here partner?”

“Cold,” a high voice answered.

It was a shock, hearing a response so clear. Pyro didn’t have their mask.

Carefully, Engineer shut the door behind him and neglected the light switch. He walked in, kicked off his shoes, and sat on the bed. In the dark Dell could see even less of Pyro. A fuzzy outline.

Dell didn’t say anything at all for a long tine. With a scratch to the stubble on his face he grunted. A grunt that wasn’t quite a yes but not a no. And Pyro took it as an invitation.

“You, you can stay here tonight.” He wasn’t sure if her thought that or said it, either way, they both squeezed under the blankets and sheets. Pyro was a warm lump at his side, clinging to him with rough hands. And, Dell thought, that wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Instead of the usual suit, the pyro now wore just a t-shirt (as far as Dell could tell, anyway) and socks.

It was comfy. Pleasant. Even more so when the other pressed in a little closer and used his chest like a pillow. Soon, Dell got use to the pattern of the shaky inhale and exhale of Pyro’s breathing. It was calming. He tried to match it, tried to take it all in and save it.

He wanted to take in the idea of a maskless pyro halfway covering him, quieter than the grave but not cold. He wanted to save the memory of someone lean and warm with their curls against his chin. He wanted to remember how the kid smelled like campfires and summer nights. Like sparklers and sugar.

Pyro was gone by morning.


	2. For Babybluezigzags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could i request a a sick, stubborn Sniper being found out then treated by Medic with hints of BushMedicine?

For babybluezigzags on tumblr. 

 

* * *

 He woke up that morning to an immediate banging in his head and a violent urge to puke. An urge that he fulfilled. All over his van’s floor. For the next fifteen minutes, he gagged up and wretched on anything that could possibly be in his stomach and then some, leaving his throat raw and his headache booming. His eyes were red, scratchy and watery. His lips were chapped. When he coughed, he coughed so hard both his lungs and teeth rattled. But, in his camper van parked strategically away from the base, no one could hear the man as he suffered. Sniper assumed that was both a blessing and a curse.

Being sick on the base was never a good thing and everyone tried to avoid it. Being sick usually meant missing work, which meant the team losing, which meant everyone was grumpy, and which meant the sick person got blamed.

That, and Sniper would rather bite off his own tongue than have to deal with Medic’s medical care. He was sure the man never once  practiced legitimate medicine, and he was sure that he didn’t want to be practiced on.

Scratching the stubble on his chin, Sniper made the decision to stay in his van for the day and just hope whatever bug he had dissipated a bit before tomorrow. 

He threw a towel on the mess he made on the floor, and stumbled back into bed, twisting the covers around himself with a groan. He’ll clean it up later. He’ll do a lot of stuff later, he thought, just not right now.

He slept longer than he would’ve wished. When he woke up, the telltale signs of war sounded all the way behind RED base to his van. Sniper never thought it was this constantly loud while he was in the war, but now, as a bystander, he could tell otherwise. He wasn’t so caught up in it now.

Still with a pounding in his head, Sniper got up, and attempted to make coffee. His ma always used to say something about drinking plenty of fluids when sick, right? Coffee was a fluid.

Minutes after drinking the coffee down he was throwing it back up again. At least this time, he managed to get it  _outside_ the van, though he vowed to never drink coffee while queazy ever again. 

He then did his best to spit the taste out of his mouth, and sat back down in his camper with a bottle of water and three painkiller pills for his head. Those came back up, too.

* * *

 It was around dinner time when Medic knocked on his camper. He then let himself in, and nearly stepped in the mess on the floor. Dimly, Sniper thought to himself how he had meant to clean that up by now.

Whether Medic cared about the mess, he couldn’t tell. He had walked over it. When looking at him, Medic only raised an eyebrow, but Sniper oh so easily imagined that sinister, sadistic smirk. With mere steps he was in front of the seat where Sniper was parked, and almost immediately shoved a thermometer in his mouth. “Herr Mundy, I expected you to cover me on the field today.”

“Don’t know why you’d need me, you are so good at hiding behind Heavy,” Sniper spat back, the thermometer almost dropping out of his mouth as he talked around it. 

“Keep that in there or I will put in a place  _much more unpleasant_. This has nothing to do with Misha, now, get up, you look like the road kill Soldier drags home.”

Sniper tried to sling something back, but found nothing. Instead he grunted, rose to full hight, and reminded himself that he was a few inches taller than the medic. Neither were small men but Sniper took a bit of comfort in the fact that he was bigger. He could probably take the other if he really had to. 

If Sniper was trying to be intimidating, Medic didn’t notice. He almost laughed to himself. “This is ridiculous.” He plucked the thermometer out of his mouth and glanced at it before shoving it in his pocket. “102.5. Not good, Herr Mundy. Have you been drinking fluids?”

Sniper cleared his throat. “Not with much success.”

Medic glanced at the towel covering the mess on the floor. “And somehow, you thought it was a good idea to sit in your van in the sun and bake with a fever and dehydrate? I’m disappointed in you.”

That accent. The nasally and sharp way he pronounced words. Sniper hated to admit that it made him a bit weak. He didn’t like it, not one bit, but he’d have a hard time saying he hated it. 

“I like the temperature. I’d be cold otherwise.”

Medic’s face twitched. “It’s ninety degrees in here, and it smells like throw up and death! Mien friend, this is ludicrous! You won’t get better sitting and rotting.”

He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. His knees were already getting week and he had to fight the urge to sit back down. “I don’t mind the smell.”

“Thats because you can’t smell a thing right now, you  _Dummkopf_. But please, Sniper, gather whatever you need and follow me. I’ll make you a bed in the infirmary.”

“Listen here, Doc, I’m not just going to do what you-”

“Sniper, you’re being stubborn. This is idiotic. You  _won’t_ get better here.”

The two men made eye contact. They stared each other down, icy blue burrowing into steal grey. Then Sniper admitted to himself, that he did feel pretty shitty. An IV and something for his headache might help. 

“I’ll try and make it worth your while. No surprise surgeries or anything.” Medic joked, and Sniper grew a worried expression. 

“Is that the kinda thing you do on people? Scout was saying something about a bloody baboon what’s-it in his middle-”

“I was Joking, Herr Sniper,” Medic responded slowly, not braking eye contact, but letting his mouth twitch into something that wasn’t a frown.

Sniper looked away, eyes pointed to the floor, anywhere but the doctor in front of him. Slowly, he wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah, Mate, alright. Better keep your word on that.”

For the first time since he walked in, Medic smiled. “Only if you’re good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Have a wonderful day.


End file.
